It's a love hate relationship
by SCprincessSC
Summary: When Paris is issued to work at an estate agent, she's devastated when she's met with the worst possible consequences. But when her second job requires her to work at an engineer's, she bangs ino someone she never expected to meet. Her soulmate.


"And where are we going to put you?" asked Mrs Greene, lowering her rhinestone studded glasses with her heavily- ringed fingers.

I shrugged nonchalantly.

"I don't mind. As long as you don't send me anywhere where I have to scrub floors or stalk customers to make sure they don't steal anything."

"Hmm," Mrs Greene answered through narrowed eyes. "No one will employ you if you have that picky attitude- no matter how brief your work is."

I opened my mouth to protest with another one of my stupid replies- then slammed it shut again. What was the point? She'd shut me up, then have me whisked away to a tacky fish and chip shop with the name of the shop standing out because of those rubbishy lights they use in Las Vegas. Or she'd probably send me to a library. Or a bar. Being stuck in an enclosed room with a load of gawping men and the smell of beer made my body shudder violently. Mrs Greene's eyebrows shop up so far, they got lost in her unruly hair.

"Is it happening again?" But the tremors had gone as quick as they came and I shook my head.

"No, I'm alright." She sighed.

"Well," she continued, thumbing through neatened papers. "I think this is all in order."

"But where am I going?" I asked, confused. She turned and flashed me a smile. I was so taken aback by her abrupt kindness, I stood and stared at her like a dumb fool.

"You're going to be working at an estate agents." And before I could gabble a mouthful of gratitude, her stamp slammed down on a paper and she handed it to me with a flourish.

"Have a nice time there," she said. "Next!" she yelled through the excited chatter of the class. I looked down at the paper. 'Anderson Estate Agent.' Oh, joy. I was going to be working with the worst possible person I could ever hope for. My worst enemy's dad was the manager of Anderson.

--

"What do I wear?" I asked, more to myself as I looked at Abby's bed. It was covered in clothes. Literally. Not one bit of blanket was spared from her careless disarray. She was thumbing through herself, picking up skirts, then throwing it to the ground.

"What about this?" she asked, holding up a skirt that could have been classified as a hairband.

"Abby! That's slut- wear!" I never felt ashamed about talking to Abby that way. Abby did qualify as a slut...but a really beautiful one. She had long, fine, blonde hair that stopped short mid- waist, a pencil thin figure, big grey eyes framed with glossy thick lashes and a creamy skin texture. Let's face it. Abby could turn heads in just her pyjamas and yet, she was still walking around with tops and skirts that barely concealed...everything that needed to be concealed.

"You're doing it again," she said, turning to me with her hands on her hips. I shook myself out of my reverie.

"Doing what?" I asked.

"That," she said snapping her fingers. "You're daydreaming again."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I was just thinking about you and this." I gestured to the clothes flung on her floral- printed bed.

"Oh, god," she groaned, collapsing on top of her clothes. "Please don't stray into that subject again." I gingerly lay next to her, feeling her soft hair against mine.

"Look, Abby. I'm saying this because I want what's best for you..."

"Oh, shut up, Paris. You don't know a thing." She jumped off the bed, strode into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her. I didn't dare say a word. No one did when she was in one of her stroppy moods. Maybe I would've felt better if Abby was an annoying, spoilt brat who ordered everyone about. Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty about trying to tell her what to wear. But she was kind and caring which was probably why I could feel a lump in my throat, threatening to make me burst into tears.

I got to my feet and tapped on the door of the bathroom.

"Ab? You in there?" I asked softly. There was a muffled sound. I twisted the doorknob and entered. She was sitting hunched up in the corner of the bathroom, her hair covering her face.

"Hey," I whispered, slowly walking in. She looked up and I was surprised to see her face red and teary.

"I think you'd better go," she said quietly. I nodded and back away.

"I'll come back later," I answered. I didn't wait to hear for an answer as I closed the door. I walked down the stairs and was just about to leave when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around.

Abby's mum, Vanessa, stood a towering 6 ft above the floor. And as usual, too scared to look into her eyes, I instead chose to look at the floor.

"Abby still dressing, I expect?" I could almost hear her sneer and felt a sense of anger rush into me.

"Yes, she is in fact, and she looks just as wonderful as ever." I turned my back on her and slammed the door shut. And for the first time that day, I felt something along the lines of 'victory'.

--

But I didn't feel victory on my first day of 'work experience.' Standing in front of the mirror, I felt like I had been reduced to the size of a pin. Even in my new black shirt and trousers, I felt horrible. If I was working with Rebecca's dad, then no doubt, Rebecca might have chosen that place as a means of torture for me. It was just the sort of cruel thing she'd do. Make me suffer while she stood in the corner, smirking. Damn her. I tugged on my collar, brushed a strand of hair that was coming into my face away, then walked down the stairs.

"I'm out of here!" I yelled loudly. I heard a grunt in reply and rolled my eyes. It was so like dad to stay in bed and sleep, even though it was his daughter's first day in a workplace. I wasn't about to interrupt his 50 winks, or whatever. Having a full time job working for the NHS was bound to drag the life out of you sooner or later. No wonder he staggered into the house in the late hours of the night and collapsed on the sofa. I'd probably collapse on the street halfway here.

It was like everyone knew I was going to have a crap time today. Even the weather was feeling so sorry for me, it was weeping big fat tears of acid rain. The rain drenched my clothes, the clothes drenched my skin, and I just knew that when I would walk into the posh state agent's, they'd mistake me for a tramp and get one of their big bodyguards to chuck me out. Cursing myself for not checking the weather forecast on the news, I hid myself under a bus shelter and waited for the right bus to come along. I checked my watch, realised I was running late and looked up to see the bus zooming forwards. I smiled to myself. Maybe today wasn't going to be as bad as I expected.

I arrived at my destination. Half an hour late, soaked to the skin, out of breath and red in the cheeks. The doorman frowned at me as I rushed past him and I ran to the receptionist as soon as I was inside.

"Hi, I'm here for work experience," I panted. "My name's Paris Robert." The receptionist raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, gave me a thorough once over and then said,"Take a seat." Just as I was walking towards a plush red sofa, I heard an abrupt shout.

"No! Don't sit there; come round here." My expression of relief was wiped from my face as I made my way back to her.

"Urgh. You're all wet," she muttered.

"Yes, it's raining outside," I said in a bored voice.

"Don't get cheeky," she warned. "I can't tolerate nuisance from anyone- especially ridiculous fifteen year olds'."

"I'm sixteen, actually," I answered, somewhat stiffly. I was really beginning to hate her. This lady with her posh accent and criticizing attitude.

"Whatever." She turned to a security guard who stood near the wall, watching us with a serious expression.

"Frank, will you take her to Jack, please?" It wasn't a request, it was an order. He walked away. I looked at the lady, confused.

"Well, follow him, then!" she snapped. I hurried after the man, struggling to keep up with his quick pace.

The lobby was stunning. It was like I'd stepped into 2019. The whole place was modernized to a point of insanity. It made me laugh to look at the CPUs' of computers that were so tiny, I could fit them into my handbag. Frank caught me laughing and kissed his teeth. He clearly wasn't happy to see me here. I fit in like the ugly duckling amongst beautiful swans.

"This is such a nice place," I remarked. It was a wild stab at an attempted conversation and I felt an idiot for even trying when he didn't answer.

We finally reached the second floor. A man with a wide grin walked towards me, nodded at Frank, then turned to me.

"Paris! How glad I am that you've finally arrived!" I was taken aback. Maybe the manager told this worker that I was coming. His warmth was surprising. "And you're completely wet!" he laughed. "Come on into my office!" I followed him in and, out of the corner of my eye, saw Frank walk back into the lift.

"Here you go," the man said, handing me a white towel. I took it gratefully and started drying my hair.

"I'm sorry I'm late and everything," I said as he took a seat.

"No, don't apologise! In fact, I recall last night that the weatherman said today would there would be highs of 23 degrees. I think he might have mistaken us for Africa." I laughed nervously and handed him the towel, glancing around.

"Erm...I was wondering if I could just let the manager know I'm here..." I trailed off. The worker was laughing at me.

"Is it something I said?" I asked self- consciously.

"No," he said, shaking his head, still chuckling. "Paris...I am the manager."

--

"What?" I yelped loudly. And then I shook my head disbelievingly. "No way..." Oh my god- Rebecca's dad was so nice! How wierd- her dad's nice and she's mean. How the hell does that work out?

"Yes, way," he said, smiling widely. "Are you surprised?"

"Hell, yeah!" I said, feeling stunned. Maybe this was my good fortune. My extreme good fortune. I was going to be working in this wondefully high- tech place with a kind boss who was nothing like Rebecca! I couldn't have been happier.

"So, let me just take you through the basics," he said, finally taking on a professional tone. "First, health and safety. We have three fire exits on each floor for our convenience. They are all situated on the right, the left and the middle. You couldn't possibly go wrong." He smiled a little, as if to accentuate the fact that whoever would get it wrong had to be an absolute idiot. "There are also fire alarms; again, three on every floor. We make sure we tell all our workers here not to use it for casual reasons; it takes around 100 pounds to repair. Any questions so far?"

When I shook my head, he continued.

"There are codes for eveyone's individual offices. This is to prevent stealing or maipulation of an individual's work. You'll be working with me. The code to my office is 658709." The numbers barely registered in my mind. I just nodded through all the instructions.

"So that's all in order. I-" But before he continued, the door banged open. Rebecca flounced in. I don't think my spirits soared down as quickly as they had today. One minute, I was feeling blissfully happy, and in a space of a second, a feeling of dread was throttling me.

"Daddy!" she said brightly, walking over to him.

"Hi, sweetie. Sorry, but I'm in the middle of explaining the necessary precautions to Paris over here." Her big brown eyes turned to me interestedly. Then she gasped. Quite dramatically, I might add.

"Daddy, she's from my class!" she said.

"That's nice, sweetheart," he answered, appearing distracted.

"No, but our teacher issued her here to help out with the cleaning duties." Whoaaaa. Okay. Freeze. Rewind. What the hell did she just say?

"Annabelle's been assigned to work for you," she continued smugly. I stood, gripping the chair. What a load of crap. How dare she. Stupid bitch. Right now, an angry monster wanted to jump out of me and pull her perfect eyes out of her perfect face and slam my new black shoes over them.

"Well..." he said hesitantly. "I guess I'd better talk her through those instead, then." Rebecca grinned triumphantly. "Now, while you're working here, the utmost attention to detail must be used. Say, if you're cleaning the glass doors, the floors, or the toilets-"

"Excuse me?" I asked, heart thumping; out of anger or fear, I'm not sure.

"Yes?" he asked, waiting for me to ask my question.

"Toilets?" He looked slightly baffled at my question.

"Yes. You will have to clean the toilets. Quite thoroughly, I might add. When we have inspectors or-"

"I'm sorry," I interrupted, standing up.

"Sorry?" he repeated, now completely confused.

"Yes," I answered. "I'm sorry I never protested with my teacher when she insisted on sending me here. I'm sorry I ever walked through the doors of this place. And I'm sorry, because I'm not going to be cleaning your toilets. We're not permitted to clean toilets; you're not my manager and I'm not your toilet cleaner. Goodbye." I walked out of the door, but not before I caught the stunned faces of Rebecca and her dad; their expressions completely identical. It was priceless.

--

"I always knew you'd come back," Mrs Greene said as I walked into the English classroom. I shifted my feet nervously, then looked up.

"It wasn't my fault. Rebecca manipulated the whole situation to her advantage. She told her 'dad'," I made quotes in the air with my fingers, "that I was there for the cleaning duties." To my surprise, Mrs Greene burst out laughing.

"Aaah, you have to give that girl some credit," she said, shaking her head.

"Credit?" I fumed. "She's a conniving little bitch!" I had said the word without even thinking. What really astonished me was that Mrs Greene either didn't even seem to notice, or didn't care. She sat down in her seat again.

"Well, I suppose we're going to have to find you another place," she said thoughtfully. I took a seat opposite her desk. "Please don't send me to another estate agent," I pleaded. She looked at me.

"No. No, I'm not going to send you there. In fact, I'll send you somewhere more local."

"The hairdressers or something?" I asked.

"No, you're probably going to be met with the same scenario as today. No, I have a better idea." She pulled out a yellowing paper and I saw the black letters printed out.

"Big T's mechanics?" I asked, astounded. I jumped up. "No. No way!" She looked at me with an annoyed look.

"You never know aything unless you try. Besides, I have a good feeling about this place. Somehow it just...fits with you." She smirked at my still- damp clothes. The sound of the stamp echoed for the second time in the space of a week.

Throwing her a disgusted look, I grabbed the paper and marched out of the classroom. This place was going to be even worse than the 'Anderson Estate Agent' . I could feel it in my bones. 


End file.
